KUNG FU
by Neil Davies
Summary: This modern day pilot story introduces Ramona Cruz, an emotionally wounded social worker who becomes Caine's pupil and patient as he makes her face her issues and treat each one with taoist wisdom. Oh yeah there's plenty of kung fu fighting to, so tighten


19

**KUNG FU - Wings of the Dragon**

**Neil Davies 2005**

The twenty-two inch flat-screen television hadn't been designed to fly, but on that day it did. It took off from a high balcony and soared through the sun-scorched air of a baking hot July day. Beginning its descent out of a wide arch it started to plummet the two hundred meters that spanned the balcony and the tarmac below. Just as it was doing this a cerulean blue Honda Civic pulled into the forecourt and slowed to a halt whilst its driver composed herself for what she knew would be an ordeal. She was lucky in one respect, the fact that she hadn't travelled another meter before stopping, because if she had the dying TV would have smashed into her windscreen. As it turned out the TV hit the ground in front of her car and exploded, shattering into a million fragments and the noise made Ramona Cruz jerk with gut-churning terror. She had been prepared for almost anything, but not this. What sort of lame-brained imbecile would toss a TV off a high balcony at a car?

Hearing young male laughter she soon realised it was kids, and the only kids here in this dive were those who ran around in packs like animals. You joined the gang culture early in the Projects some members were no more than five or six. Ramona had come across boys of just four armed with razor blades and replica guns eager to prove themselves to older youths. She had asked them why and the only answer was that being tough earned you respect, nothing else would when you lived in a cesspit. The problem was that the Projects were a cesspit, they bred despair, anger, violence and drug abuse because people had to escape poverty some way and if they couldn't get a job then they did the next best thing, they invented a phoney culture to be part of such as a gang.

Composing herself with an effort she picked up her bag, her file was inside it and this contained details of the troubled youth she had come to see. Ramona was a probation officer, and the teenager in the file had been in and out of juvenile detention for most of his life. Next time he got busted it would mean an adult prison, where he'd do hard time with the real animals. Her job was to ensure that this didn't happen, although she wasn't optimistic on that score. Of all the cases she'd dealt with only about 3 of gang kids pulled back from the brink, the problem was that when you got sucked into that world for long enough you didn't want to leave it.

Backing her car up a few meters she parked it under an awning and got out, hoping it would be protected by the concrete buttress. The real risk she knew would be thieves who might steal the tyres, seats, stereo and anything else they could strip down. Then again some psycho might just torch the car just for the hell of it, that wasn't exactly unknown out here. Why did I come alone, she asked herself? Well the answer was that the office was understaffed, graduates just didn't want to go into probation these days and Ramona often wondered why she had?

"You're a bright girl," her mother had begun many a lecture with these words. "You could be anything you wanted to be like a lawyer or an accountant."

Yes Ramona thought I could some rich parasite like my brother, charging people two hundred bucks an hour just to listen to platitudes and empty promises; only I'm not like that I have a social conscience and I want to make a difference.

Would she make a difference here, it didn't seem likely? But with an up thrust jaw and a straight back she decided she was going to try, adding a spring to her step she approached the building entrance projecting the image of a young professional woman of importance going about her business. I'm not afraid she told herself, I'm going to be fine and this is going to work out just dandy. I'm going to find this boy and get through to him he'll see the error of his ways and reform.

Yeah sure he will her more cynical self responded, and that busted TV will repair itself and fly back into its owner's apartment.

The smell hit her at once and even though she'd been prepared for it, it was still a nasty experience. The stench was a combination of coke, urine, vomit, grease and fear. Ramona just knew she was going to need a shower after this, a change of wardrobe to most likely, she took a pride in her appearance and like most successful women was conscious that image was everything even in the public sector. Even with a good degree, she was sure it was her legs that had landed her this job.

"Hey baby, I can show you a good time."

This came out of nowhere like some kind of spirit. Ramona willed herself not to peer into the shadows, whoever was there she didn't want to see him or to let him know she was afraid. Show them any fear and you're finished, that was the golden rule.

"Open another button for me baby, show me those lovely ripe melons of yours."

It was a relief to reach the lift, and an even greater one to find that it worked. Okay so it stank like a public toilet and was covered by obscene slogans, she could live with that. After all it wasn't as though she was setting up home.

Juddering to life the elevator began to rise - her destination was the fourth floor, which just happened to be the one the TV had been dumped off. With any luck the under aged punks wouldn't still be there, on the other hand they might be down below vandalising her car. Oh well you couldn't have it every way she supposed, the main thing was to find Joe.

She had rung on ahead and Joe had promised to be home, not that his promises amounted too much these days. Sixteen and cocky with it, Joe was part of a crew that hijacked cars, torched buildings, sold coke and mugged anyone stupid enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Joe though had brains and potential, he wasn't totally evil like his older brother so Ramona figured there was an outside chance.

"You're not a social worker, don't wet nurse these clowns." Her boss Bradley had told her often and it was all right for him, as he never left his office these days. "Just put the fear of god into them, jail next time asshole and see if I care."

Bradley didn't care, that was his major problem whereas she did. She'd joined the service to make a difference, after growing up in a neighbourhood not too different from this. _See I can make it that means you can to, so why not give it a shot?_

The message fell on a lot of deaf ears, and she hoped Joe's hearing was up to par today as he was sinking fast. The trouble was that he looked up to his brother too much he thought Demon was a hero and Demon wasn't – he was just bad to the bone.

As the lift opened Ramona found herself entering a gloomy corridor with doors on the left side and more slogans on the right, the floor was slippery and the air pungent with dope but it wasn't these things that bothered her, it was the atmosphere of menace that oozed from every inch of concrete. This was a dangerous place for a honey like her to be, she was a woman alone in a jungle where single women carried guns if they had any sense.

Lacking a gun or even a can of spray, Ramona moved cautiously away from the lift. She had no sooner done so when a door opened and the homeboys emerged. There were six of them dressed in gang colours of red, black and green with shaven heads, studs in the left ear and a spider tattoo on the back of the left hand. Joe was the youngest of them, but his arrogant strut made him look like leadership material. Not knowing the others Ramona focused on Joe, but she saw no friendship in his eyes just the usual disaffected defiance of the gang punk.

"Hey Ramona," he drawled. "You get lost on your way to the salon?"

This amused the others no end as they fanned out to ring her, tall young men with violent lustful eyes and hard knuckles. She knew she was sexually interesting to them, and at 27 she certainly wasn't beyond their age bracket. Rape was a common occurrence in this place, and nobody took much notice of a woman's screams reasoning that any kind of sex was no bad deal if you just relaxed and let it happen.

"I want to talk to you alone Joe," she kept her tone even and professional.

"My friends and I have no secrets," came the sneer and it was obvious he was showing off to his colleagues playing the big man by being sarcastic. Well she wasn't having any of that, as it was against service rules and her own personal beliefs.

"Our conversation is confidential Joe, if you won't come to my office then I have to come to yours. Is there a room we can use?"

"Yeah," said one of the older goons whom she knew to be called Larry – he was a crack dealer. "And it has a bed in it."

Larry's breath was as foul as everything else about him he was a truly repugnant creature with the eyes of a wolf.

"So go tuck yourself in," she replied. "My business is with Joe."

Not liking that Larry moved forward to jab his finger in Ramona's face, "No bitch talks to me like that you need to learn some respect."

Given the environment she could guess what form the lesson would take, a beating followed by rape and possibly murder.

Throwing an appealing look at Joe, she saw no salvation there and not much concern for her well being she was on her own and needed to protect her back. Seizing Larry's stuff finger she twisted it back against its joint until it cracked and he sank to his knees, then she drove one of her knees up into his jaw and felt the bone snap. Thrown onto his back with his eyes rolling up, Larry didn't move but once his pals had recovered from shock they did.

The law of the gang was that you looked after your own, and all outsiders were enemies.

Pain exploded through the roots of Ramona's hair as a fistful was grabbed and yanked backwards savagely. Moving into the grab she smashed her forearm into the attacker's face until he let go, then pivoting she kicked back with her right foot into another youth's chest. Going with the flow she stepped and turned in a half circle, hitting the next punk with a right cross to the mouth, it was a beautiful boxing punch with plenty of power and broke two teeth.

"Don't you boys mess with me, I can look after myself." Ramona snarled.

Scattering for a moment the boys gathered their senses and courage to work as a cohesive unit. They wouldn't give up because male pride wouldn't allow it, they could not let a woman beat them no matter how dangerous she was.

Thinking she was ready for anything, Ramona was distracted by a shout from Joe. One of the others grabbed her from behind in a full nelson, and another sank a shot into her stomach with sickening force.

Badly winded she felt her knees buckle and could do nothing as she was thrown viciously against a wall banging her forehead in the process. Another punch to the kidneys put her down and they stood around her panting and sneering, gazing at her torn tights, messed up hair, smeared mascara and low mewling sobs. She didn't look so high and mighty now, and she wasn't going to stop them from having some fun.

Throwing a tear-misted haze Ramona saw Joe take her bag and spill its contents onto the floor – lip-gloss, perfume, hankies, purse and file. Picking up the file with his name on it he scattered the sheets with reckless abandon.

"This is what I think about our meeting Ramona, and this is what I think about you."

The catch blade jumped into view with a cruel click, six inches of razor sharp steel that could kill or maim or both it would certainly make a real mess of her face. "You're finished as my probation officer," the boy bragged. "And every one else's."

Cheered on by his mates he moved the knife towards the crouching, sobbing woman and Ramona just knew she was going to be badly injured if not killed today.

That was when a noise distracted Joe, a soft clang followed by the sound of something small rolling across the floor, turning he saw that it was a bracelet with some kind of logo on it. As the rolling bracelet came nearer and lost momentum falling on its side, Joe noticed that the design was that of a dragon. But whom could the object belong to, and where had it come from? Distracted from his victim Joe straightened up, he gave a command and the other gang members spread out to search the corridor.

Vision clearing and wind returning Ramona was sure she could make out a tall figure in the shadows, and sure enough when the man emerged into view he proved to be over six feet in height with long, swept back hair, a lean experienced face, some kind of brown workman's jacket, black pants, a white shirt and no shoes. The guy had bare feet, and this feature was so startling that she doubted the evidence of her eyes at first. Who in their right mind walked around barefoot in this day and age?

The reaction of the gang was interesting, as it certainly wasn't what Ramona would have expected. There were no sneers, no jokes and no threats they just went for the man – all except Larry whom she'd rendered inert with her knee. Five against one she thought, why then did she think that the odds favoured the barefoot man? On the surface he had no chance, he wasn't even armed as far as she could see.

Spike was closest he was a triple murdering crack dealer with a criminal record going back to the age of five. The kick that slammed into him came out of nowhere it was beautiful and even artistic in its flow and delivery. When it made contact with the ball of the foot it shut down his nervous system totally, reducing him to a limp formless doll that just flopped to the ground.

Gary had a long history of bottling and razor-slashing people in bars, he'd once taken a guy's eyes out but when he lunged at the mystery man this time his hand was caught easily and the joints painfully twisted, causing him to spin off balance. To Ramona he seemed to flip through the air as if on strings spinning madly out of control before impacting with a wall that didn't like him anymore than walls usually like high-speed vermin.

Mike had a knife in both hands and he's used them both countless times in gang fights, putting several other youths in the morgue. The foot that slammed into his solar plexus told him that today was going to be very different, not only did it rob him of all wind it set him up perfect for a forearm smash to the jaw that emptied his brain of all evil thoughts.

Lavell had once strangled his own father in a fit of fury, immensely strong for his age the kid had gone on to maim and mangle lots of fathers and a few mothers to. When he tried to wrap his arm around the barefoot man, an elbow to the stomach gave him pause for thought. With the same arm the man drove a fist into Lavell's groin, then whipped it up pendulum style into his face. Pivoting into a spin the man used his other arm to flatten the punk with a knife hand chop to the carotid artery.

Joe was alone now he had no gang to back him up and only two options – talk or tackle Mr Barefoot.

"Joe," Ramona gulped.

"Shut up bitch!" Such was the fury of these words and hatred blazing from Joe's eyes that she was shocked silent, he was beyond her now beyond sanity.

Uncoiling a chain from his waist, Joe wrapped part of it around his right wrist for a firm grip then began to swing the rest in circles and figure eights, as he advanced on the mystery figure. Calm and detached the man parted his arms as if to say – there's no need for this why should we fight?

Beyond reason or logic Joe gave a vicious snarl forcing his opponent to shift into a loose cat stance then flow around Joe as if moving through a sedate freeform dance routine. Enraged Joe swung at him again and again trying to cave his skull in, missing every time as the man turned his head dipped his hands and coiled his body.

The more Joe missed the more furious he became, there was honour at stake here he had to avenge his gang and punish this intruder. Upping his game the kid threw himself forwards with every greater abandon, but this was a mistake as he left himself open to a counter.

When the man struck it was so fast that at first Ramona didn't know what he'd done, she was only aware of its effects. Joe staggered back clutching himself, he half turned and lost his footing, his head swung one way then the other, his features became twisted with pain and confusion and he crashed into a wall. He's been hit with a series of open handed blows both palms and chops, and they had struck sensitive points that now throbbed painfully.

Wounded but not discouraged, he threw himself at his tormentor with renewed fury swinging the chain in ever more desperate arcs.

Flowing under and around these the man picked his moments and his targets with a kick here and a blow there. He was not only highly skilled in the martial arts, but incredibly cool in a crisis as though he had no fear. Stinging Joe, hurting him and robbing him of stamina. It wasn't kickboxing Ramona decided, nor did it much look like any of the karate she'd been taught, as there were no fixed postures or loud warrior shouts.

Eventually – tired and bruised – Joe gave one last weary lash. The man was waiting for this and caught the chain with both hands not hurting his fingers in the process, which was a miracle in itself. With a solid purchase he yanked Joe off balance and swung him in a wild circle, bouncing him off first a pillar, then a door and finally a radiator before casting him loose in a crazy spin/stumble. The kid eventually collided with the elevator doors, hitting them with a miserable grunt.

Ramona would never know why these opened as Joe hadn't touched the button, and she would never understand why the lift car wasn't in place as she'd just used it. Instead of falling into the lift, Joe plummeted down the lift shaft. He had nothing to grab hold of and he had no way to prevent what happened next, all he could do was scream and keep on screaming all the way down – all four floors.

Unlike the TV outside he didn't explode, when he hit the lift car roof he just stopped with a loud thud and the screaming stopped.

"Oh my god!" Dragging herself upright Ramona went over to the open doors, the man was still there ahead of her. The shaft was dark but they could still see Joe. He lay face down with his limbs spread out askew, he wasn't moving and there was a dark stain spreading out from under him. His head seemed to be at an odd angle to her, with the jaws and eyes wide open in a fixed expression. He'd dead she thought the fall broke his neck.

Gently and with compassion the barefoot man eased her back from the shaft, his touch was surprisingly soft for one who fought with such skill. There isn't a mark on him she caught herself thinking, after five opponents he doesn't even seem to be breathing heavily. She on the other hand felt sick and dizzy, she was tired and shock was robbing her of even more vital resources so that she sagged against him.

"Oh my God, we must do something!" She cried, but what could they do now Joe was dead he had probably died instantly.

Come with me his look said and at first she resisted until she realised that it was pointless to hang around, so she surrendered to his guiding hands, thinking he would lead her downstairs and outside. In fact he took her to a short flight of steps leading up to a narrow landing, there was a brown door on the left and taking out an old fashioned brass key that was almost a foot long he inserted this into the lock and the door creaked open on rusty hinges.

I can't go into some strange guy's apartment, even if he did just save my life Ramona mused but she did anyway, and beyond the door she was in for some even greater shocks. Grubby and insignificant on the outside, the apartment was startling rich and exotic within hung as it was with Chinese ink tapestries. Some of these bore calligraphy but others displayed delicate paintings of a white crane balanced on one leg, a tiger crashing through some shrubs, a coiled serpent awakening to a new dawn and best of all a huge praying mantis fighting some large insect.

Drawn in crayon was a temple stood at the base of an ice-capped mountain, other drawings showed pagodas and courtyards within the temple in more detail. Dotted above these were pencil sketches of bald monks, some elderly and some young and one of them was clearly the man before her now. Had he been a monk? He didn't fight like one, although he did have the most remarkable air of serenity, as though he were a man dedicated to peace who also possessed awesome fighting skills. The room was lighted by dozens of candles – big ones and small ones of every conceivable colour. A small jade Buddha sat at the far end gazing down on a small altar upon which lay an incense burner. Taking a match the man lit a fresh taper and an aromatic odour began to permeate the room making her feel instantly better.

Waving for her to sit, the man filled a small bowl with water and came to her wetting a cloth in the water and squeezing it out. "Look this way," he said softly and they were his first words to her she realised. He hadn't said anything before, during or after the fight.

Poor Joe how was she going to explain it to her boss or Joe's family?

There would be repercussions, some of them would fall on her and some would fall on the man now dabbing dried blood from her face.

"Who are you?" She asked, wincing slightly. Smiling an apology, he wetted the cloth once more and with more care wiped her forehead.

"I am Caine," he responded. Looking at him up close she was struck by how gentle and knowing his eyes were, how much life and experience radiated from his face. He's seen and done a lot more than me she mused. He hasn't lived an ordinary, run of the mill life not this man.

"Ramona," she told him.

"Why are you here, Ramona?"

"I'm a probation officer," she said automatically it was what she told everyone.

Most were impressed but Caine paused to cock his head on one side.

"That is an occupation, not a reason."

He was totally right and she rebuked herself for not being clearer.

"Joe, the boy who died, I'd come to see him."

Caine didn't pry anymore and she was grateful as the ache of loss was a deep and acute.

"You fight well," Ramona said. "I mean I've done some martial arts, but I can tell you're an expert."

Adding some dark brown grains to the water, he stirred them in with a small wooden spatula and then soaked his cloth before applying the tea coloured brew to her bruises. As he wasn't responding to her she went on, "I'm a blue belt in kickboxing and a green belt in karate, I don't have time to practise regularly but I keep pretty fit. I thought I could handle myself against those guys – obviously not."

"It took great courage to come here alone," Caine replied.

"It took more courage for you to get involved and help me out, thanks by the way." A shrug was the only sign he'd heard her, and she realised that he wasn't a big talker. He didn't have the assertiveness skills vital in her job training, or indeed most career development. He was content to be self-contained, to be at peace.

"Can I ask why you did save me?" She knew she was being nosey, but hey she was entitled after what had happened and if she was honest she found this man intriguingly mysterious.

"Should I have walked past and permitted your death?"

Many would have she was sure, as people just didn't get involved in trouble in this or any other neighbourhood. Ramona lived in a decent suburban area but even there folk kept to them selves, and the fear of street crime was a palpable, if unspoken reality.

"You could have lost your own life," she pointed out.

"Our lives are measured not in years, but the quality of service we offer to others." He replied and she looked at him wide eyed in disbelief, it was something her childhood pastor might have said. Good old Father Luke – a decent and caring man whom she'd come to deeply admire, he'd been a tiny speck of light in a world of darkness and since his murder she'd never met anyone like him, until perhaps now.

"Do you really believe that?" She blurted, "Or is it a line?" She could have bit her tongue at the pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry, what I mean is I hear all kinds of stuff spoken by people and most of it isn't true." Maybe Ramona my dear you ought to mix in better company she thought, and that was her mother talking.

Caine leaned back and she found to her surprise that he'd inserted three small needles into her left wrist, right bicep and right thigh. "How is the pain?" He asked, and she wondered if he was referring to her recent physical bruises or the emotional traumas of her life?

"There is no pain," she said and there wasn't, not a nag or a twinge from her head, arms or stomach. She felt fine, in fact she felt better than fine. It was amazing what he'd done with a damp cloth and some acupuncture.

"Where did you learn this stuff?" She was being nosey again, but he didn't seem offended.

His response was a single word, "China."

"You went to China?" She'd never been further than San Juan, and how long ago had that been?

"I lived in China," he motioned to the mural of the temple. "At a place called SHAOLIN."

Now she'd heard of that, it was quite famous even today as the birthplace of the martial arts. Hadn't some guy called TAMO or something journeyed there from India to instruct the monks in religion? Finding them unfit he'd begun to teach them exercises that later became karate.

"You lived with monks?"

"I became one of them, I am a SHAOLIN priest." Taking his bowl to a sink he said a short prayer over the water before gracefully tipping it away.

A priest, Ramona mentally gulped! No wonder this guy had come across as holy with all the incense and the Buddha.

"So what are you doing here?" She asked not adding the words, _in this dump?_

That his look told her is a long story with many adventures associated with it. "I have taken over the healing clinic of an old man who wished to retire."

Ramona waved surely this wasn't it, was it?

"In Chinatown," Caine added.

Chinatown was a fair distance from the Projects so she wondered what he was doing here, before she could ask he said.

"I sometimes run a clinic for those who cannot reach East Hastings."

Maybe I should go there myself she mused, and get some anti-stress treatment. She felt so relaxed in this room with this man, as there was no pressure to compete.

"What do you treat?"

"Suffering," came the quick reply.

"What kind of suffering?"

Wiping his hands with a dragon mural towel he said, "There is only one kind." And with these words he touched her deeply, because he was right and they both knew it. Pain had many causes but it was always the same pain, and she felt it just as sharply as anyone else.

Why did she feel an overwhelming desire to unburden herself, to tell him her life story and see what he could make of it?

"I knew a man like you once, he was a priest to. He was shot dead in front of me, I was…I was nine years old."

There she'd said it, extracted it from deep in her gut and told another human being; the first one to hear the story for almost twenty years.

Coming to her Caine sat opposite, extending both hands slowly he rested them on her cheeks and soon those cheeks were wet with tears. Why is this happening to me she wondered, why am I opening up to a total stranger? Is it a shock reaction to the fight, or is it this calm oasis of a room? Or is it Caine himself – his sheer presence invites confession and catharsis?

"Let it go," the words were soft but powerful and they seemed to come from deep inside her, they could have been spoken by Father Luke. "Let it go," and she felt something drain out of her, something lift from her heart and her shoulders. She was shedding a heavy load that she'd carried since that awful Sunday when a car had screamed into the curb, and two masked men had jumped out with guns. Drug dealing punks condemned by Father Luke from the pulpit, scum not fit to lace his shoes. They'd fired their guns and kept on firing, as if trying to erase him from history but if nothing else Ramona had learned an important lesson that day – _you can't kill a truly good man._

Releasing her Caine relaxed, he sat and looked into her face until she wiped it. She needed a hanky but wasn't sure she had any he provided some so she could blow her nose.

"I'm sorry." Don't be his look said, I understand. She knew he did to, that somehow he could look into the heart and heal suffering. "I should go, what time is it?" Her watch was broken, smashed across the middle. Caine didn't seem to have any timepieces he wore no watch and never seemed to be in a hurry.

"I must report Joe's death to the cops, and the assault on me."

"Joe has gone," Caine said evenly. "His body carried away by his friends, it will not be found." He seemed totally sure of this, and the more she thought about it the more she realised he was right. They would take the body to his brother Demon and Demon would swear vengeance.

"Neither of us is safe Caine, the gang will want revenge. Maybe you should leave here with me and ask for protective custody."

His look was ironic, as if there was no protection from life and even if there was; he wouldn't accept it anyway.

"I cannot go to the police," he said and in these six words was a wealth of meaning. He's on the run Ramona realised this calm peaceful priest who had saved her life was wanted by the authorities for some reason.

"Why?"

"Sometimes," he told her. "The law is not just, merely a whip."

Having dealt with cops all her career she was no great fan of them either, with the country sliding into fascism she felt increasingly alienated.

"So what can we do?"

"You may seek official protection if you wish, I have other protections."

Just what did he mean by this? Martial arts were no use against guns and bombs, or against Demon. Ramona had met the man only once and that had been enough, he was utterly evil even by gang standards and probably insane.

"You don't understand Joe's brother is capable of anything."

"So," Came the response, "am I."

It seemed that nothing she said could phase this unflappable man, whatever training program he'd been through (and it was extensive in her view), it had given him a total assurance that he could handle any situation and maybe he could. Ramona wished she could say that, "I have to go." She said and waited for him to remove the needles. Looking down she found they had already been taken out, and she hadn't felt this any more than their insertion.

"Take the rear exit," he told her. "They are waiting for you in the lobby."

About to ask how she knew this she decided to just accept his uncanny intuition.

"What about my car?"

"There is a bus stop two blocks east."

Ramona didn't have any change, but the next thing she knew a bill was being placed into her left hand. No need to pay me back his eyes told her, it's the least I can do. "Walk softly," he said. I can't just abandon my car she wanted to cry, but she could do that and she would because it was appropriate under the circumstances. She could always send a tow truck for it later.

"Thanks for all you've done Mr Caine, I doubt if we'll meet again as I have no reason to come here so look after yourself."

His response was, "we will meet again and quite soon."

Confused by this she didn't deny it, she just left.

Once alone Caine went over to his meditation mat in front of the Buddha and sank into a lotus posture, closing his eyes he began to breathe deeply as he sank into a different mental state. Around him the rather drab room dissolved to be replaced by a wide courtyard made of stone, it was ringed by thrusting pagodas, and wind chimes could be heard in the distance. A tall mountain rose up in the near distance, and figures could be seen moving up and down it; some were running in a line. Around C came shouts and shuffling feet, as students moved through complex exercises and drills in other yards.

Around him was calmness punctuated only by the approach of soft footsteps.

"Master," he thought. "How do we defeat evil?"

A wise voice replied, "By being ourselves."

"How does this help?"

"Evil always tries to make us something we aren't, by being true to ourselves we remain constant and focused."

"And if evil uses violence?"

"That is what the training is for – to deflect, offset, render and despatch. But equal to the physical skills is the mental attitude; these things are your shield."

"And if evil threatens another person?"

"Then the shield must be extended."

Opening his eyes Caine glanced up into the face of his master, even though the drab little room was back Master Choi was still visible in his orange robes and black sash, his head shaven and thick arms folded. Of all the teachers at the temple he was the most respected, for as well as a scholar and mystic he was also the boxing coach.

Thank you master Caine thought, and Choi nodded his head before melting away.

Bradley was in a bad mood, which was par for the course these days, he rarely seemed to be in any other sort of mood despite his promotion, salary hike and 23 year old girlfriend. The same age as Ramona, Bradley had a crumpled look as though he slept in his suit and never combed his thick black hair. Chin in need of a shave and eyes bleary, he was sucking a mint to erase the smell of booze. Despite being her supervisor his office was no bigger, it was just quieter due to triple glazing. Once he and Ramona had been colleagues, then a vacancy came open for management. She was better qualified, but he played golf with the chair of the selection board.

She wasn't angry about it anymore, she had been for ages but now she just took it in her stride; it was the way things happened women got dumped on.

"You didn't see him," Brad said for the umpteenth time in that was that drove her crazy, he used the tone of voice that really said _is your eye still on the ball baby, or would you be better off in a different job?_

She knew he still feared her, that he feared the brass would come to their senses and realise they'd promoted the wrong candidate. He probably lay awake at night thinking of her being his boss, and how he'd have to eat shit like he'd made her do.

"He wasn't around and nobody knew his location." Ramona had decided on this story during the bus ride, she felt it sounded a lot better than Joe and his pals jumped me but got beaten up by some barefoot weirdo, and Joe died.

That didn't sound remotely credible, and nor did the idea that said weirdo had then treated her with needles and kind words. Bradley would think she'd lost it, as if he already didn't.

"He's your assignment, you could have nosed around and asked more questions."

"In that neighbourhood?" She retorted, "Have you been there recently Brad on your own, without a gun? Young women have been none to just disappear never to be seen again, even the cops go in fours." I shouldn't have been there at all she didn't add, as she didn't want him accusing her of being weak as well as inefficient.

"Joe is a priority case Ramona, you're going to have to track him down at some stage."

Later she thought - much later will I go looking for the body.

"There's always his brother," Brad remarked.

"You want me to go and see Demon, after what he did to the last person from this office who tried that? Who was that person Brad now let me think, oh yeah that's right it was you wasn't it?"

Wincing as that barb went in deep, Brad swivelled in his chair and stood up. Going over to the ultra thick windows he peered out over the city, the portion of it they were in was less than inspiring, a rundown public service block that fed out into the ghettos and projects. Ambitious climber just didn't end up in a backwater like this and they both knew it, it was for people who weren't going anywhere. Ramona knew that Brad hated the label of loser as much as her, he thought he deserved greater things and maybe he did, but he was going to have to wait.

"Why did you take this job Ramona?" He suddenly flipped into one of his philosophical moods, and she had to admit that she preferred him like that to his usual bitching, downtrodden self.

"To make a difference, to turn lives around." She said.

"Oh yeah that's right, the TOMA argument we all use at interviews – to make a difference we say that's why we want to be probation officers, but do we, do we honestly make any difference at all?"

Knowing the question required no answer from her, she watched him bunched his shoulders, spread his arms and do a little posture for the pigeons before turning back to her with the answer she knew he was going to give, "Do we hell!"

On the word hell there came a loud crack, the glass now behind Brad splintered in a crazy web outwards from a small hole, a hole that had gone through all three planes. Brad was punched forwards into his chair then over this onto the desk, hitting the wood with a gasp he gripped the desk edges and gave a horrible little cough then blood began spilling from his mouth out over the papers and folders. There was a hole in his back about level with his heart, and this to was leaking red. Oh my god she thought as she realised what had actually happened, that Brad had been shot right in front of her and was now twitching his life away on the desk turning it crimson with his own vital fluids. She almost went to him, but if she did that she'd be level with the window and the shooter would have a second target. Backing away to the door, she made herself go through this backwards. "Help," she called. "Somebody please help, he's been shot."

There came a crashing sound from below and she knew it was the main entrance to the building being forced, somebody had rammed it with something and battered their way in. Boots could be heard on the vinyl of the ground floor then on the stairs, screams came from the girls in reception and then the screams fell silent. Angry male voices shouted and cursed as things were knocked over and smashed, all the time the boots kept coming up the stairs and they were coming for her.

Get out she told herself, just get out of here right now or you're dead to. Somehow she knew Brad hadn't been the real target because she was the target, this was all to do with Joe and revenge for his death. Demon was reaching out with his poisonous talons, and a blood sacrifice was demanded. Ramona knew there was only one realistic option open to her, and grabbing her coat she ran to the emergency exit; the one reserved for staff that wasn't visible from the outside it was a stairwell that twisted its way next door and from there a door led to a yard.

I can escape she told herself I can get away from these killers. It's what I do after that bothers me.

As she ran downwards with her mind in a panic she heard the sounds of Brad's office being ripped apart and fresh curses, where was the bitch she was supposed to be here? Needing no further incentive to keep moving, Ramona reached a landing and that was when she heard the sound she had been dreading. There were running boots coming up from below her, these guys _did _know about the emergency exit because they'd done their homework like good little hoodlums and bribed someone on the inside.

It did her spirit no good at all to know that one of her colleagues had sold out, then again the pay was so lousy here that it was difficult to cast blame. So what did she do, did she carry on down or go back or try to hide where she was? Well there was nowhere to hide where she was and going back up seemed suicidal given what was waiting for her, so the only real option was to keep going and this was what she did.

She met the punks three flights later and one level up from the ground, they all wore the black jackets and yellow bandanas that marked their gang loyalty and they all had eyes like hungry wolves. That's her, their looks said, that's the bitch. Not losing momentum she ran towards them knowing hesitation to be fatal, as she drew nearer she kicked the first guy on the jaw with her right shoe and he flew backwards with breaking teeth. His pals clicked their knives into place, but Ramona knew she didn't dare lose her knife now.

As one of them lunged at her she used her training to side step and back fist him across the nose, as he fell into her arms she turned him and pushed him into the third punk. Even so she felt a white-hot slash across the left calf muscle, the bastard had cut her, he had tried to puncture her leg; well screw him then. Ramona punched the guy in the face with a right cross then taking the arm back she drove its elbow into his temple. Not pausing she crescent kicked him with her right leg, and the outward circular movement of her foot sent him spinning over the banister to drop ten yards onto hard floor.

The guy she'd back fisted came at her with a bloody nose, grabbing her by the collar he pulled her back off balance and prevented her from hitting him by placing his blade across her throat. "You lose bitch," he hissed. "I'm going to cut you up good."

Part Two 

With the knifepoint pressed tightly against her jugular vein, Ramona didn't dare move or even breathe. This was it she realised this was the end of her life. All the punk had to do was apply a little pressure and she was dead. Twenty-eight was young to die, although many had died younger like Joe for instance. But she felt a great sadness because there was so much more she wanted to do with her life, so much she wanted to learn and experience. She felt sure Caine could open her eyes to many things, and now she'd never see him again it was so unfair.

Yet instead of pressing into her flesh the knife slackened and the punk actually relaxed his grip on her, he took a step back and dropped the knife; from his throat came a curious rattle. Turning Ramona was amazed to see two rigid fingers jabbing into the kid's neck, another hand held him by the shoulder and behind him stood Caine. Within seconds the punk had slid to the floor, rendered inert by the pressure-point technique. "Oh my god," Ramona gasped. "How did you get in here?"

No time for words Caine's face responded, and he was already moving past her to face the approaching herd of ugly faces. From a bag on his back he took a long, slim object that at first she thought was a metal baton. That is until she noticed the air holes and the tapered front end with its narrow aperture that could be blown into. It's a flute she thought, he's facing this mob with a flute what's he going to do play them a tune?

As the leading punk reached Caine and tried to stab him, the flute deflected the knife aside neatly then the blunt end stabbed a nerve cluster in the solar plexus inducing coma. The next punk swung an axe, again it was deflected and he was felled by a poke to the windpipe. Punk three tried to grab Caine, at least he did until the flute smashed into his groin, punk four took a chopping blow to the bridge of the nose and number five was stunned by a lash to the left temple. The sixth punk pulled a gun and this time Ramona was sure that her hero was finished, as the gun was too far away for an effective strike.

Quickly raising the instrument to his mouth Caine blew hard, and the gunman gave a cry as he clutched his own left cheek – jutting out of this was a slim black dart. Turning Caine threw Ramona a look - we go now. She was sprinting down the stairs as fast as she could, but when she reached the bottom he was still waiting for her. How had he reached the ground floor first, he hadn't past her on the stairs?

"Did you jump?" She asked, unable to believe anyone could jump so far and not break their legs or neck. In response he moved to the door and pushed it open, waving her through. Just as she was doing so a van screeched to a halt in the car lot outside throwing up a wave of grit. Caine's hand came to rest on her shoulder, not yet the gesture said.

Throwing him a harrowing look Ramona wondered what they did now, as there was no way back up the stairs? Calmly he stepped out to face the men vomiting from the van, Ramona counted seven of them and all were armed. Even unarmed they would have made a terrifying sight with their rippling muscles, studded boots and wild kill-crazy eyes. Demon wasn't taking any chances, he seemed to have sent his entire gang and one barefoot man stood little chance.

A kick to the jaw demolished one man instantly, switching him off like a light. A second man took a kick to the belly that slammed him back against the side of the van, causing the whole vehicle to shake. Caine went into a clockwise spin and his next kick was with the heel of the foot, a third man flew over the van hood to land in a pool of scummy rainwater.

Caine was grabbed by the arms one punk to each arm, and it was clear he wouldn't be able to just shake them off a vicious ape moved to position himself in front of the priest, and it was clear what he was going to do when he tightened the brass knuckles over both fists. But as the right fist went back to deliver a crushing blow to the face, Caine leapt into the air and drove both feet into the puncher's chest in a sizzling two-legged dropkick knocking him right back into the wall of the building. Using the momentum the kung fu master back flipped and tore himself free of the men holding him to land perfectly on his feet, he then struck with devastating effect – right crescent kick, left hook kick and right roundhouse kick. The fight was over as the last three punks dropped like stones.

Ramona was breathless, where had he learned to fight like that and how come she didn't know these moves? "You drive," Caine said heading for the passenger seat, and the next thing she knew she was behind the wheel changing gears. As they flew away from the building more thugs emerged and shots were fired, Ramona cringed and tried to make herself smaller but he just sat there unperturbed as though he knew the bullets couldn't harm him and they didn't.

"Where are we going?" Ramona asked as slugs zinged off the paintwork not hitting her either, and they should have been.

"Head east," he said and she thought well that figures. East was further downtown, it was Chinatown, an area she didn't frequent all that much as it was rather dangerous.

"They won't give up you know, they'll keep hunting for us."

Quite unmoved he just sat there as still and as silent as a statue.

"You were great back there by the way, I wish I could fight like that."

"You can," he said softly.

"Only in my dreams, you're better than Jackie Chan."

"I have not met him so I cannot say."

He was kidding, right? No she decided he probably wasn't. There was something very unworldly about this man, in the world but not of it.

"They killed my boss," she said with a lump in her throat. "They just shot him." C's hand was on her arm at once and she drew strength from it, he felt her pain as keenly as she did she was sure of that.

"Everyone has a time to die," he said and she felt a burst of anger. Was he justifying Brad's murder as no more than fate?

"He didn't deserve to die like that Caine," she spat back shrugging his hand away.

"It was his choice."

Now that was just pure crazy, "Bullshit!"

"You will understand one day."

Oh sure she thought when I'm with the angels, but part of her knew her rage was misdirected. Demon was the real culprit, he had sent these killers into her world and she had been their target.

Looking into a mirror to see if they were being followed, she was relieved to find they weren't; not that this lulled her into a sense of security. The gang had a long arm and Demon wouldn't just give up, if he knew where she worked he knew where she lived. What was she going to do, how was she going to live?

"We should go the police and make a statement."

"Later, perhaps."

"What's more urgent?"

"Your healing," he replied. But I'm not hurt, well not much anyway.

"I don't need healing."

Oh yes you do his face said, a great deal of it.

The Chinese word meant apothecary, there were other words but Caine didn't explain what these meant as he unlocked the door and led her into darkness. She expected him to turn on a light but he didn't do this, and there was no illumination of any sort until he began lighting candles. Gradually, bit-by-bit, the surgery formed in her eyes and it wasn't all that different from his apartment just bigger. Incense holders, candles, wax figures, herbs and roots stood alongside sets of needles, anatomical charts and ancient books with the temple motif on the front.

Picking up one of these she found it full of ink drawn figures doing martial arts movements, they were about two inches tall each with bald heads and they were performing various moves some she recognised some she didn't.

"Is this your style?" She let him see a page.

"The manuals are from shaolin temple, given only to priests of a certain rank."

He put a kettle on it must already be full of water.

"So these are your forms?"

He nodded solemnly as she leafed through the book, it had hundreds of pages and there were dozens of books, did he know all of these forms? Ramona only knew three karate forms and a little tai chi, she preferred practical fighting to doing dances and had enrolled in something called 'Reality based fighting for women'.

"Is this stuff for guys only, it's just that you said priests?"

As the water boiled he looked at her in that profound way of his, half-amused, half-serious.

"It is for anyone I choose to teach," he said.

"So you're a martial arts instructor as well as a healer, philosopher and knight in shinning white armour?"

Sitting down he beckoned for her to do likewise, putting the book side she sat opposite him and he gently took her by the wrists. Oh brother what now she wondered, what is he going to do kiss me or lecture me? But instead he looked right into her eyes, deeply into her soul she felt.

A gunshot but distant, Bradley crying out and falling over the desk, his shock, his blood and his final moments she was reliving it all scene by scene like a videotape that had been rewound. Caine was plucking this from her memory, but how and why?

She looked in horror at the dead face of her boss but this time instead of mask of pain and shock she saw peace, acceptance and release. Bradley was still dead but it didn't matter, death was nothing to be afraid of it just happened and the soul moved on.

Another gunshot and she was looking down at Father Luke her kindly old mentor, yet on his face was the same peace and lack of concern. Don't cry for me child he seemed to be saying, and don't cry for yourself either they can destroy my body but not my soul or my message.

Opening her eyes Ramona found that Caine was no longer near her, he was sat cross legged on the other side of the room in a state of repose and on his face was the same expression as Bradley and the Father.

He doesn't fear death she thought, somehow he has learned to transcend it and that's what he wants me to learn that death is an illusion.

Thank you Caine she said silently and his eyes opened, in them a warm smile of almost child-like joy.

"The healing was a success," he said softly and she could only agree.


End file.
